


A Fox Is Not A Pet

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dark!Lucien, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, Hybern!Won, Master/Slave, Mating Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: 'The war was over. Finally, they had time to forget. He knew it would be a long night; He had a lot of memories to drown in that angel skin of hers.'After ten years of warfare, Lucien is a changed man, Elain a prize of war. She has stayed sheltered, but he has learned that even a mating bond can sour if left to rot in the dark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Anon Kink Meme. Thanks to @rowan-buzzard-whitethorn for the beta-ing and motivational cheering. They continue to be my unholy saviour in the best way possible.

 

Hybern had won the war. The human kingdom had fallen. Lucien was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, and his father was buried deep, deep in the ground. Things had worked out rather wonderfully for him. For Elain, not so much. 

When she came to him, she shed no tears. Presented to him as a prize of war, a gift from Tamlin, she stood at the far end of the Throne room in chains. Her delicately petite body had been depleted, made smaller still by the years of belong to the losing side of a decade long war. Her wrists, cuffed in a block of ash wood, were no bigger than Lucien’s thumb. 

Hung upon her tiny frame was a paper thin slip of a nightie, its cut highlighting how boyish her figure had become, with narrow hips and a near flat chest, her two small, pert breasts having no need for a brassiere. They’d been left revealingly bare and pressed against the translucent fabric of the gown so that even from that distance, Lucien could see the pretty pink circles of her nipples, the way the cold and fear had hardened them. He swallowed. 

“Uncuff her,” He ordered the guards escorting her, his throat drying as they complied. He’d changed over that decade long war. He’d spent all those years under Tamlin’s rule, being as patient as he could be, biding his time. He was tired of waiting. He’d known he wanted this girl for ten long, aching years. No longer was he an obliging courtier meeting the needs of others; The High Lord would take as he wanted. 

“Out,” he said, casting his cold gaze around the throne room. “All of you. I shall greet her alone.” The Autumn Court, filled with those who had once ridiculed and exiled him, could do nothing to protest. They washed away like stewed dregs down a plughole, the guards sealing the doors behind the masses. After ten achingly long years, he was alone with his mate.

Ten years could do things to a person. To a bond. Even a bond as strong and base as a mating bond. He’d once been more than obliging to treat Elain gently, to go at her pacing, to transform himself for her. Now that sense of eager compliance had twisted and distorted. She was to meet his needs now. Victory favoured the winning party after all. 

“It’s been a while, Elain, my fair mate,” Lucien said from where he was sat upon the throne. He coaxed her closer with a curl of his forefinger, watching her like a predator studying its prey before pouncing. “Did you enjoy your time in The Night Court? In the Illyrian camps? I’m glad to see they didn’t make a barbarian out of you. But that’s all outwardly.” He’d spent ten years imagining what they were doing to his mate beyond his reach, and it had driven him near insane. Though fire might dance at his fingertips, warfare had drained all warmth from his soul.  “What about inside? Did you turn into a whore, like your sister? Or should I say sisters now? I heard Nesta was found with Illyrian wedding tattoos upon her corpse. So they both were sleeping with monsters.” 

With those large, doe eyes Elain looked up at him, and he felt it all over again: That deadly mating bond. That urge to strip her, fuck her senseless, claim her all to himself over and over and over again until they both could no longer move. He’d take her on the throne room floor, on the throne itself, against the pillars, outside amongst the guards. He’d take her every way he pleased, and make sure she was left hopelessly pleased too, force her to cry out in ecstasy so she knew  _ she was his _ . After all, she was his present for all he’d done to win the war. A reward for all the people he’d killed, all the friends he’d betrayed. 

Things he ought not to linger on. The war was over. Finally, they had time to forget. He knew it would be a long night; he had a lot of memories to drown in that angel skin of hers.

“Lucien,” she said, her voice half whimper, half whisper. She caught herself, and started again, “My High Lord. Please, I’ve never-” Her hands fumbled with the fabric of her night gown, bunching it up against her abdomen. “I’ve never done anything like  _ that _ . So please, I won’t… I won’t know what to do.” She seemed so scared, not so much of him but of disappointment. Perhaps she felt it too, this urgent, beating need to please the other, to make herself everything to him, as he once had for her. Could she sense how ugly that bond had become for him, how a decade had distorted it into ten years of pain and resentment? Of fighting for air he’d poisoned before he’d even known it was there. “But I’ll learn. I promise, I’ll learn. If you teach me.” 

Admittedly, Lucien was taken aback by this. He’d expected her to be like Feyre, spitting foul words and refusing to give him an inch. Instead, this girl was… this girl wasn’t bearing an enormous chip on her shoulder. She hadn’t been made callous to the world, it seemed, despite the war. With everyone drained by the fighting, this untainted innocence was so refreshing. So desirable. And worse, it ignited that bitter rage he’d been nursing. She seemed to have escaped the war unscathed, save for captivity. So pure. A virgin, still, both in the bedroom and in the world of bloodshed. Feyre must have worked hard to shelter her. 

“I suppose I could take you under my wing,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and airy to cover up how his stomach had knotted and he was already half hard under his High Lord finery. Images were rapidly cycling through his mind, vivid fantasies of deflowering this delicate lily before him, breaking down that sweet summer innocence of hers. “If you swear to do exactly as I say.” She nodded. “Good. Then I shall mould you to be  _ exactly _ as I want you.”   

Feyre - who had been all he had as a reference for what his far off mate would be like - would have sworn at him and ruined the entire damn thing. He had no patience for bickering after years of doing it through blood and torn flesh. 

Hell, he’d never dared to speak like this to anyone before. Unlike her sister, Elain was quiet, complying, and her silent obedience had his cock twitching beneath his trousers. He could see her flushing crimson in response, squirming where she stood. “I’d like that,” she said quietly. Looking up at him, she swallowed, eyes fierce, bold, as bold as Feyre ever was. “I’d like to learn how to please you, my Lord.”

“Well, aren’t you different from your sister,” Lucien observed with a quirked eyebrow, sitting up in his seat. So. It seemed she wasn’t going to cry, to let him see her weakness. He was more than delighted to see just how far he could push that until her broke her. 

To highlight his power over her, he spread his legs and leaned back into the bronze throne, a tall, regal structure carved in the image of a strong oak shedding its leaves. He beckoned her closer with his finger again. 

She did as instructed, coming to heel so that she stood before him, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. He’d always dreamed of her like this, more and more as the days of war grew darker. Of her willing and obliging. And sometimes, during particularly warm, feverish summer nights, he thought he could feel her dreaming too, at first frightened, and then- then he didn’t know. Was she as aroused as he was at the paintings of her bound and displayed, fucked at his mercy? Did she wake up sweating, in sodden bedsheets, when he choked and fucked her over into orgasm in the astral plane? 

Maybe so. Maybe, they both knew how those dreams went. They both knew what secret roles they had to play. And now, with no one watching, they had no one present to judge them. They could finally fuck as they wished to in the flesh. 

“When you address me, you are to refer to me only as ‘my Lord’,” Lucien said, not looking at her. Though he was certain those dreams had been mutual, he couldn’t face the idea of seeing disgust upon her expression. 

His stomach dropped when she answered, “No.” 

“No?” He repeated, freezing. 

“I mean, please my Lord, no. May I- May I instead call you Master? You don’t just rule me after all. You own me.” Cauldron, Lucien was rock hard. And he hadn’t even touched her yet. From looking at her eyes, which studied him just a little too closely, he realised she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She was pushing back. And he knew he could not win, could not dominate her completely, if she was the one in charge of his cock, his brewing, festering desire. 

“You may, my little prize,” Lucien said with a smirk to try and cover up how difficult it was to hold back and play the game with her. Stretching himself out, he took his sweet time in standing, letting her watch and gaze up at him. 

“Thank you, Master,” She mumbled, bowing her head. Now that she was closer, he noticed her bare feet upon the floor, so little and elegant as she rubbed her toes together from nerves. That small movement alone was so endearing, Lucien had to take a moment to steady himself. 

“On your knees, sweet girl.” She obeyed without protest, without question, just a quick glance up at him and a quiet ‘Yes, Master’. “Good girl. Now stay there.”

“It’s cold, Master.” 

“Stay there, and don’t move.” He walked to stand on the top step before her, studying her kneeling figure on the polished marble floor. Descending, he came to the last step before her, and he ruffled a hand through her hair, stroking the top of her head. “I’ll soon take your mind off of it, sweet girl, don’t worry.” 

Through her meagre slip of a gown he could see how her nipples had hardened further, the folds of her dress now cascading down from them. A shiver ran through her as he ran the backs of his fingers through her hair, and she closed her eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” Lucien mused quietly, drinking the sight of her knelt before him in. “Those Illyrians must have loved you, all those years they had you to themselves.”

“I didn’t want them,” she said, looking up through her lashes at him. “I couldn’t stand when they tried to touch me - they were so rough and so inexperienced. They weren’t anything compared to even just the dreams of you.” Her lips quivered, as did Lucien’s insides. Was she referring to the same dreams he’d seen? Was all her speech submission, or was she teasing him to reclaim som ownership of what was about to be done? “I only want you, Master. So please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Master. Fuck me.”

“You filthy little slut,” Lucien said, arching an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.” His smirk widened when she looked up at him from the floor, confusion in her eyes. His answer was to take her jaw in one firm hand, and run the pad of his thumb across that red, raw bottom lip of hers. Her lips were so full, like that of a porcelain doll you’d give to a little girl. Her flawless skin and oh so large eyes did little to detract from the impression, yet innocent as the image was, his mind had far from childhood plans to put those plush lips to use. 

Dropping her jaw, he removed his belt and tossed it aside. “You’d better prove you’re worthy, else I’ll have you assigned to scrubbing kitchens or mucking out the horse shit. I don’t waste my cock on incompetents.” Without so much as batting an eyelash, he pulled his cock out and held it in one hand so that she could not avoid looking at it, keeping it right in her face. “You know what to do, little virgin?” He could see tears pricking in her eyes as she shook her head, and he knew that she really hadn’t been touched like this before. “Part those pretty doll lips of yours and suck. Better learn fast, or I’ll fetch you a mop and bucket instead.” 

Hesitation: her lips parted, then clenched shut in uncertainty, before parting again. He could feel her warm, shaky breath dusting across the head of his cock, sending blood rushing to swell there, making his head throb. Fuck, how he wanted to just grab her head, thrust his cock down her pretty little mouth and fuck her senseless. Fuck, how he- 

He caught himself. Why didn’t he? He was no longer the man he had once been, a tormented creature plagued by uncertainty and morals and dreams. War had taken those all from him, but liberated him to a whole new philosophy of freedom in the process, a code of conduct so dark he felt a delicious sense of wrongness in showing it in the sunlight. 

Winding his fingers into her neatly brushed and parted hair, he got himself a good grip on her head before forcing her forward, coercing her into taking his cock between those soft, soft lips. He groaned in sinful satisfaction at how good it felt to feel her all around him, and to know he’d inflicted it upon her only deepened that sick sense of triumph. Finally, he had her to do with as he pleased. And he would make her please him oh so well. 

Toughening his hold upon her hair, he used his binding grip to rock her head back and forth, setting up the motion and pace he liked. What remained of his sympathetic side considered letting go, letting her try it for herself. It stood little chance against how good this felt. How thrilling it was to have her very throat, that internal cavern people so rarely considered a chance for violation, entirely at his mercy. He plunged himself deeper, shivering in breathless felicity as he both heard and felt her gag around his cock. 

If only the fallen Night Court could see her now. Lucien remembered how they had kept Elain from him, how they had refused to let him see her even when he offered everything, from spying on Tamlin to betraying the King of Hybern himself. Feyre would not allow Elain to set foot into the Spring Court. It was a sentiment he understood far, far too well, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t felt each day like a piercing dagger in his side, driving deeper and deeper with each day he was kept from her. He wasn’t looking for redemption. He wasn’t even looking for revenge. All he craved now was release. 

“I’m going to take your virginity,” he whispered to Elain through his panting gasps for breath, “and you’ll feel it too. The Mate Bond will fall into place. And then I’m going to fuck you, and use you up, until we truly are equals. Until you feel this.” He placed his other hand over the hollow sensation that was with him always now within his chest. “Until you truly  _ know war _ .” He fucked her mouth harder, crushing her tongue, her throat, deeper and deeper. She was gagging repeatedly now, her eyes glazed over from oxygen deprivation, so much that she was putty in his hands, not even resisting it now. “And then I’m going to fuck you in front of all of Prythian, so that they all know. They all will know that  _ you are mine _ .”  

Incoherent, his cock abolishing all chance of speech, Elain whimpered against him. He couldn’t tell how she felt about what he was doing; tears streamed from her eyes, but with one hand she was massaging her breast through her gown, and the other had slipped under her skirt. Lazy and in a haze induced by the lack of air, she was slowly rubbing her clit, fingering herself as he took total control over her head, fucking her face without mercy. She didn’t seem to understand her feelings anymore than he did. 

Nor did he get time to untangle them; She moaned and tightening her lips around him, licking at the glans of his penis as he drew back, and when he thrust back into her he couldn’t hold on, coming hard and in obscene quantities into the back of her throat. Her coughing and struggle to hold onto and then swallow his cum was a faded blur in the background. Every fibre of his body was singing, elated, finally given relief from the fuck they’d been craving for so long. And he hadn’t even fucked her properly yet. 

He was exhausted, his cock still half hard but aching from how rough he’d been, how he hadn’t noticed her using her teeth. And yet there he was, watching her force herself to swallow his cum, gasping desperately to catch her breath, and all he wanted to do was fuck her again. “Stay on your hands and knees,” he said, his voice as rough as nails on a chalkboard but audible nonetheless, “and turn around.”

She regarded him wide eyed as if he were mad, but once she realised he was serious, she forced herself to obey. Struggling against weak limbs and fatigue, she rotated and came down to lean upon her palms pressed flat against the floor, sucking in oxygen whilst she still could. 

Descending the last step, he joined her on her knees. With momentary softness, he slid her skirts up her thighs and over her back, exposing her arse to the chilly air of the spacious throne room. “Fuck me,” Lucien breathed, sitting back for a moment to admire the perfect swell of her buttox, how small and perfectly formed her asscheeks were, and how comely and inviting the crack between them was. 

“Let’s find out just how wet the little virgin slut is then,” he purred, leaning in. He looped an arm around her abdomen, his chest pressed to her back, and he reached down to slip his fingers into her cunt. “Oh,” he said, the mocking glee in his voice unmissable, “you’re practically  _ dripping _ . What would your fair sister say about that then?” Retracting his fingers, he moved over to brush them against her cheekbones, slicking her own wetness across her skin. “So untouched, so sensitive. Your body’s begging for it, little flower.” 

“Lucien, please-”

“What did you say?” Lucien said sharply, taking a tight hold of her jaw and squeezing. 

“Master-”

“Better.”

“Master, please.” She bowed her head forwards, her hair cascading down to brush against the floor. “Please, fuck me. I- I need you to fuck me. Please. It  _ hurts _ .” 

“You really are desperate, aren’t you?” He mused, whilst rock hard all over again himself at the sound of her begging him like that. 

“You know, it’s your first time. I should go slow.” With the tip of his forefinger he traced a circle around the entrance to her hungering pussy, able to feel her fluids even that far out. “A gentleman would start by fingering you, nice and slowly, teasing you to open up, to loosen so he doesn’t hurt you.” He refused to push a finger inside, instead tracing the outline of her clit before pinching it, slicking it with moisture. “Would you like me to treat you like that?”

“N-No,” She panted, her head dipping so far her forehead was nearly upon the floor. “Master, please. Fuck me. Fuck me now, hard. Make me yours. Fuck me and make that fucking mating bond.” She sounded ready to burst into tears, her voice pitched far higher than usual. 

“If you insist,” he said, ever so quietly, before he forced his cock into her.

Her body, so young and inexperienced, wasn’t ready for it. She was still far, far too tight and unused to objects being shoved inside, parting her muscles, and that obvious naivety nearly made him come right there and then. As he drove his cock into her regardless of the pressure she whimpered loudly, crying out as her muscles clamped around his member in protest. “Don’t stop,” she begged him, perhaps somehow psychically able to tell that for a moment, he debated continuing. “Please. Again. Harder.” 

He didn’t need telling twice. Taking her buttox in his hands, he splayed her cheeks and raised her hips up to get a better angle. Bent over, her forehead was now pressed firm against the cold floor, her hands clasped together above her head. As he rocked deeper, she cried out again, but this time it was a gasp muddled with pleasure. Lucien understood it all too well, his cock so hard it was painful, everything so intense and overwhelming he felt like he might pass out. His muscles thrummed with the siren call of the mating bond, the mounting symphony about to crest over into-

Into an orgasm he’d never known the likes of in his life. He came in colour, in bright white light, in music, in utter, eternal silence; he didn’t know. All of his senses were so overwhelmed they spoke only of extremes, everything thrown into chaos. His body shook violently as he doubled over, his head against the curve of her spine as he came inside of her, his cum slicking out around his cock and running down her trembling thighs. Everything was an explosion, and everything was at last, after a decade of distant calls, silent. 

Be it for better or for worse, at last, they were mated.    
  



End file.
